


Maternity Ward

by SippingPlotting



Category: Downton Abbey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SippingPlotting/pseuds/SippingPlotting
Summary: Ficlet: Thomas's first night when WW2 evacuees stay in the women's hall.





	Maternity Ward

-  
-  
-  
It was Sybbie Branson's fault really.  
They'd taken in four evacuee mothers as though it were simply a visit from someone down the road.  
Four pregnant mothers.  
And between them ten or so small children. 

 

'Ten or so,' because they never stopped moving long enough for Mr. Barrow to take an accurate count.  
Each time he thought he'd managed a total, another one he couldn't be sure of having counted popped up somewhere new.  
The butler huffed in annoyance as they quickly tumbled by.

 

Now, Barrow understood the need to make more of an effort what with the war and all—but he certainly thought THIS an odd way to help.

 

Still, duty was duty.  
(And he couldn't have ignored the plea in Miss Sybbie's face if he tried.)

So Barrow walked down the stairs at his usual steady clip, salt and pepper hair falling into his eyes.

At the bottom he stopped and pushed it back, then straightened his jacket  
before entering the servants hall.  
Always best to be tidy, even if it wouldn't help with the news.

 

“Nanny's dealing with them for a bit, making a play room,” he said to Mrs. Moseley as he finished up the story.  
She gave the butler a soft pat on the arm and a nod.

“I'm to send you up with linens, and deliver the cheery news to Daisy that there's an entire second sitting for dinner.”

 

“I heard that,” Mrs. Parker said, whisking by. “And you need to stop letting that child have her way with things always. Really, truly you do.”  
She plunked down the stack of plates in her arm and turned to go back to the kitchen.

“Not like we can say no with Lady Grantham behind things, too,” Phyllis said gently to her receding back.  
Then, “I'll get them set out in rooms, double quick” to Barrow as the she rose and passed by.

 

The three knew their jobs and would do them flawlessly, but the upstairs would never realize the effort they'd have to put out that night.

 

It was midnight before the women got to leave for home and past one by the time Barrow got things locked up and checked. 

(Not that he expected any Germans to parachute in to the Abbey, but it was still his responsibility to make sure the doors and windows wouldn't let them in if they did. )

\---

Barrow, now only months away from fifty, was beginning to feel his age at the late hours  
which in earlier years he wouldn't even have noticed.  
Not that he'd ever let on.  
His pride wouldn't allow personal comfort to enter into things.  
For Thomas hated above all things looking foolish or weak.

 

But he barely made a chapter before he fell asleep over his book that night.  
And in his dreams he was wandering in the American west  
when something quite hard and wet hit his face. 

“Da!” the intruder yelled in joy.

 

Barrow flinched and sat up groggily, looking around. (Pecos Bill? he thought.)  
His arms rose protectively as though he expected another roundhouse blow.

“Da!” came the exclamation again, followed by giggles, and Barrow looked through his hands to see a small boy at the edge of his bed, nappy sagging.

 

“Who's this?” Barrow said, not exactly unfriendly, but still not quite at his best.

A stream of what the child must have assumed was the King's English spewed from his mouth before he fell backward onto his bum.  
“Oh.” He looked confused. Then  
“Da, up,” he looked to Barrow, as though giving command. 

 

Now, Thomas was well versed in infants, though his experience was rather rusty.  
But he knew that to avoid what was sure to be a monumental outburst required immediate action from him.  
“Da, up,” he answered somewhat bleerily, swinging his feet onto the floorboards.  
And he reached for the boy and swung him onto his lap.

A whiff of talc and baby soap wafted toward Barrow as he settled the boy securely and jiggled a knee.

 

The child approved.  
And another string of incoherence was issued his way, followed by a moist hand, grabbing his nose.

“Now, laddo, none of that,” Thomas said, making fast work of the offending digits.  
“No, no, no,” the boy replied, and began to pat at his hair.

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Barrow answered, before stopping himself.  
He sighed.  
“Now I'm trying to debate truant toddlers in the dark of the night.  
Miss Sybbie will not wind me so easily around her finger next time.”  
(Yes she will, an inner voice corrected him.)

 

“The problem is I don't know whom to return you to,” he said in what amounted to a cooing tone.  
He held the boy up, nose to nose and smiled.  
“No, I don't,” he cooed, as the boy looked at him wide eyed.

“Ya!!!!!” the boy crowed.

 

“Fabulous,” Barrow muttered, but he chuckled in spite of himself.  
“You little, grubby beast,” he cooed in the same tone as earlier.

“Ya!!!!” the boy again crowed his glee.

 

“Phht. We need to figure this out,” Thomas said, nodding again to keep the child entertained.  
The boy giggled and wriggled, and seemed to want to be down.

 

“Well, you must have walked in. So let's see how far we get walking out.”

Not far, as it happened. 

 

A few feet later, the child again started with “Da, up!”  
And Barrow, having a few tricks up his sleeve, used this command to lift the boy like an airplane and 'fly' him to the connecting door.

Left open. Lovely.

 

“Yaaaaaaaaa!!!!” crowed the child, loudly enough until this time, he caught the attention of a few new guests there.  
A mother poked her head out, followed by one, two, three more.

 

“I have someone's child, I believe,” Mr. Barrow said in his most serious butler tones as he brought the boy back to his chest.  
And gave the women his most serious butler look as he tried to regain some dignity.

They giggled.

 

The child had his hands wrapped in Barrow's hair again, and had it sticking up.  
And he was patting a sticky paw on the butler's pink cheek.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” the brunette said. “Little Petey does like to explore things.”

“Hmmm,” Barrow said before he handed the boy over and wished them all a good night.

 

Closing the door, he heard a burst of laughter and female chatter.  
And his cheeks burned quite fiercely.  
Still, it didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have, this was true. 

 

For Barrow liked children, and had a soft spot for such adventures.  
“Da,” he said softly and went smiling back to bed.


End file.
